


Surprise

by CarolinaNadeau



Series: The Music Man: The Happily-Ever-After [24]
Category: The Music Man (1962), The Music Man - All Media Types, The Music Man - Willson
Genre: F/M, Flower Language, Fluff with depth, Front hall flirting, Harold and Marian have a fight, Intimacy, Parenthood, Parlor passion, Pillow Talk, Pregnancy, Sexual Politics, Spooning, babies ever after, smexytimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-07 08:22:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1892031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarolinaNadeau/pseuds/CarolinaNadeau
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few months after their blissful second honeymoon, Harold and Marian discover a wonderful – if unanticipated – result of that trip that promises to make their family happier than ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as ever to Marianne Greenleaf for her encouragement and inspiration for this idea – as well as her unending support for all my floofy fluff that helps to convince me that I'm not a ninny for writing it. Though I know that I'm tough to convince. :P

Harold Hill had never been an excellent cook, but he'd had to learn how to feed himself out of necessity. While he'd spent most of his life in boardinghouses and hotels, that didn't mean that there hadn't been a few occasions when he'd had to provide something more substantial than toast for himself. And after he'd moved out of River City's boardinghouse and into the lovely house on Maple Street where he'd planned to bring Marian as his bride, he had spent a few months fully reliant on his own cooking – with the exception of his quite-frequent dinners at the Paroo house, of course. At home, he'd spent most of his nights experimenting with recipes and cookbooks, at first with often-disastrous results, but he'd eventually managed to hone a serviceable culinary repertoire.

As a husband and father, he was now grateful for those skills, however unpolished they may have been – while Marian was undeniably able to prepare a better meal, from the earliest days of their marriage Harold had detested the idea of being the kind of husband who expected his wife to wait on him hand and foot all the time. And on the rare occasions when the librarian was indisposed, it certainly helped that he could take care of things reasonably well while she took the opportunity to rest.

Recently, Marian had been feeling a bit under the weather, and on this particular evening in August, she had come home from the library nearly falling asleep on her feet. While she'd professed no appetite herself, she'd made a valiant attempt to prepare dinner for Harold and the children – but she'd quickly found that the sights and smells of food were almost unbearable to her in this state, making her nauseated and woozy. Swooping in to fulfill the role of dutiful spouse, the music professor had insisted that he would handle everything for the rest of the night, and he'd even prepared a bowl of oatmeal for Marian to eat before she went upstairs to lay down.

While it obviously distressed Harold to see his beloved in less than perfect health, it reassured him to observe that the symptoms did not appear to be any that she hadn't suffered before. Perhaps she had started her courses – she was due for that, wasn't she?

Maybe even _overdue_ , considering that he couldn't recall any significant impediment to their frequent, passionate lovemaking since before they'd left for their trip to California in May – at least, not until she'd become so fatigued in the past week or so...

But he didn't have time to pursue that line of thinking any further, as the evening soon took the sort of chaotic turn that one had to expect sometimes when living in a house with three energetic young children. As usual, it was four-year-old William who provoked the mayhem when he bounded in from the backyard, proudly showing his father and sisters the frog he'd caught. Predictably, the slippery creature got free within moments, resulting in utter panic throughout the house as Harold and the children tried to herd it back outside without causing any harm to the furniture or the animal, and all of this while dinner simmered on the stove! To further complicate matters, their recently adopted kitten, Strawberry – usually as prim and prissy as Susanna who had named her – had immediately harnessed her feline instincts and launched into a frenetic, clumsy attempt to hunt down the frog, giving the Hills yet another obstacle to setting things right. While the music professor found himself wishing that Marian was there to help out, he also knew that she was lucky to have missed out on dealing with such a commotion, considering how very tired she'd been feeling.

Somehow, everything had eventually sorted itself out, with the frog outside, the children cleaned up and seated at the table, and dinner unburned, though Harold was not sure that he could recall exactly _how_ , as the whole event was somewhat of a blur in his mind when he tried to reflect on the details.

Thankfully, the children played quietly after dinner, perhaps a little worn out from the excitement of the frog incident, giving him enough time to get the dishes washed – and once he was able to devote his full attention to them, Harold could usually get the children in the palm of his hand.

When Charlotte was a toddler, the music professor had discovered a certain talent that, he supposed, further proved that he was naturally suited to fatherhood after all: his silver tongue and flair for the dramatic made him a masterful storyteller.

On most nights, it was enough simply to read to them from their own picture books, but once in a while, when he was feeling especially enthusiastic, he would spin his own tales, and the children were captivated by those most of all. By stretching a single story out night after night, Scheherazade-style, he could actually convince them to get ready for bed willingly, just to find out what happened next, and even Marian had admitted that she looked forward to hearing what he could come up with – though he'd occasionally had to ask his well-read wife for help when he wasn't sure where he could take a particular plotline that he'd begun!

Clamoring for the next installment in the rather convoluted saga of the fisherman and his magical seashell, the children climbed all over him soon after he came in to settle down on the couch tonight. He'd brought a newspaper with him as only a sort of formality, just in case this turned out to be one of those rare nights where the children were too occupied with something else to corner him and demand a story immediately, but it quickly became clear that this reading material would not be needed.

Of course, the newspaper he was holding was, as usual, a blatant invitation to Strawberry, who promptly sprawled her fluffy white body across it and made it impossible to read even if he'd wanted to. Between the cat and the children, Harold was thoroughly pinned to the spot by eager little admirers, and he couldn't have been more pleased about it. It was in moments like these that he recognized just how soft he'd become – but, even if it made him feel ever so slightly silly to have become the sort of man who cooed over children and kittens, he did not wish to be anything else, and certainly not to have remained the callous, calculating con man who looked upon domestic life with scorn! He was simply happy to be the sort of man who had such love in his life that he'd been able to discover this side of himself. Marian, for her part, never seemed so utterly besotted with him as when he embraced his paternal side, and he could easily understand how she must have felt, considering how immensely it warmed _his_ heart to watch her with their children.

Through several years of practice, Harold had learned how to draw out a story just long enough until the three of them grew too sleepy to listen for much longer, and, as he brought the tale to a more sedate conclusion, he would inevitably end up with at least Susie falling asleep nestled in the crook of his arm, her golden curls spilling across his shoulder. William always fought harder against his drowsiness, but he too would eventually end up heavy-lidded, yawning and leaning into his father's _other_ arm.

Charlotte, nearly seven years old, was unlikely to actually fall asleep so easily, but she still grew rather dreamy and calm by the time Harold had finished with his storytelling – and she enjoyed the special responsibility of "helping" her younger siblings get to bed, after which she was usually more willing to climb under the covers herself.

As they dropped off to sleep one by one, it was almost hard to believe that these were the same children who'd been capable of kicking up such a ruckus earlier. But there was something profound in these moments of tucking them in and kissing their sleeping brows. When they were drowsy or sleeping – perhaps the only time of day when they weren't moving too quickly to get a good look at – Harold watched their faces and felt simply overwhelmed by love, in awe of the very miracle of their existence, that their very lives had arisen from the love that he and Marian shared.

He'd known that he wanted to have children with her from the moment that he'd chosen to stay in River City and build a life with her, but he could never have been prepared for what it would be like to see his own features reflected in the face of a tiny child, mingled with those of the woman that he loved and cherished above all others.

The former con man could easily remember a time in his life when even loving one person had been unimaginable to him, for it hadn't been that long ago at all – and now he had his dear little librarian and their three beautiful children, and each one of them had his heart completely. At times like these, no matter how tired he was, he just wanted to rush to his wife, take her in his arms, and demonstrate how much he loved and adored her and everything that they had together – but tonight, she was certainly already sleeping. His display of gratitude would have to wait.

From a practical perspective, Harold supposed that he should have retired to the music room after putting the children to bed so he could get some work done, but he felt restless, unable to stop worrying and wondering if Marian's condition had improved at all. Though he didn't want to irritate her, he simply couldn't stop himself from checking in on her for a moment, just to ease his mind. Perhaps he could at least have the chance to place a tender kiss on _her_ sleeping forehead, to make up for the hundreds of kisses that he currently longed to bestow upon her.

He was set to open their bedroom door very carefully and tiptoe across the room, but it surprised him to see light streaming from underneath the door. Still, he couldn't dismiss the possibility that she'd fallen asleep with the light on, so he turned the knob very slowly and pushed the door gently so it wouldn't creak and risk disturbing his slumbering princess (sometimes, it was difficult to get his mind out of those fanciful storytelling thought patterns right away!)

But Marian wasn't sleeping after all – she was sitting up in bed reading. There was a rosiness in her cheeks that had been absent earlier in the evening, but Harold was still concerned about her well-being, especially as she apparently wasn't getting the rest that she'd so desperately desired.

"You couldn't sleep?" he asked, coming to sit near her on the edge of the bed.

She shook her head with a small yawn, removing her spectacles and laying them on her nightstand, along with the book. "No, I did. But I woke up a little while ago, and I was feeling better enough that I thought that I might as well stay up – especially because I've been wanting to talk to you alone."

"What about?" he inquired offhandedly as he leaned down to untie his shoes.

There was a moment of hesitation in her response that somehow got his attention more than anything she could have said, and he sat up to look at her. She was gazing back at him with eyes that were wide and uncertain, but the corners of her mouth trembled as if she were trying to hold back a smile that she wasn't certain that she should be having. In essence, his proud, indomitable librarian looked shy and vulnerable – an expression that he wasn't accustomed to seeing from her, and certainly not in recent months or even years.

"Um – can you come sit by me?" she finally asked, patting the bed beside her.

There was no way in the world he could have refused such a sweet request, nor would he have wanted to. He removed only his shoes, suit coat and tie before climbing into bed next to his wife, wrapping his arms around her. "Everything all right?"

The librarian drew her knees up closer to her chest under the covers, her fingers nervously tracing aimless patterns along the bedspread. "Harold, there's something I need to tell you. I hope this won't come across as too sudden, but I think I just ought to say it." Breathing in deep to gather her composure, she took his hands in her own and bit her lip as she gazed up at him. "I haven't had my courses, you know."

It was amazing, the way that a few simple words could carry such power. His heart leapt in his chest and his head was sent reeling as he tried to absorb the full significance of what she was telling him, and as he came to understand what this would mean, he felt elation radiating throughout his entire being.

Harold had woken up this morning assuming that this would be a day like any other, without any particularly remarkable occurrences; and, up until mere moments ago, the most extraordinary thing that had happened all day had been the fiasco with the frog, something that he might very well have forgotten all about by this time next year or even next month.

And then with one statement, Marian had turned this into one of the most wonderful days of his life, one that he would remember forever. But wasn't that often how these sorts of days came about? After all, it had been at a rather late hour one July night when she'd confessed her love for him and he'd realized, in the nick of time, that he couldn't live without her, either...

Though his mouth had gone suddenly dry, Harold still managed to speak. "You're – you're right. Since – "

"Since before the trip," she confirmed with a nod. "I've missed at least two months now. And, well, we weren't very cautious in California – or after, for that matter – and with the symptoms I've been having, it all makes sense if I'm… Of course, I don't know for certain. I might be wrong. But I've realized that I hope I'm right."

"Oh my God. I – I hope so, too," he stammered, laying a hand on her stomach in a loving, reverent embrace. "I had thought of this, but I hadn't really taken the time to do the math..." Overwhelmed, he pulled his wife into his arms, kissing her cheeks and her hair over and over. "Darling, here I was getting so worried about how sick you'd been feeling, and it turns out to be for the most wonderful reason possible. I know that this wasn't in our plans, but I will love this child, any child of ours, so very, very much. I already do."

At that, Marian nearly burst into tears, her eyes welling up and voice trembling. "I feel the same way. It's true that I haven't been to the doctor yet – there's a chance that there might not even _be_ a child. But the moment that I began to entertain the possibility, I was already in love. Oh, Harold, I'm so relieved that you don't think this is – a problem." With a shaky sigh, she buried her face in his chest.

Harold held his beloved even more tightly, letting his hands move in soothing strokes down her back – he supposed her doubts about his reaction shouldn't have shocked him, yet they sounded utterly ridiculous in the face of the incredible joy he was feeling. "A problem? Marian, I couldn't imagine a greater blessing than to bring another child into the world with you," he assured her. "If anything, I was worried that _you_ might be upset – it goes without saying that pregnancy and childbirth are much harder on you than on me. How could you doubt how happy this would make me?"

She looked up at him again with a little shrug. "Well, it's just – it isn't what we planned."

"If everything had always gone the way we planned it, there'd be no Susie," he reminded her, gently wiping the tears from her face. "Really, if _everything_ had always gone the way we planned it, we wouldn't have ever even fallen in love – or, at least, we wouldn't have ever acknowledged our feelings. But everything that has come into our life, planned or not, has been absolutely beautiful."

"I suppose I knew you would feel that way, but I just couldn't help wondering how you might take the news," she admitted. "Everything is going so well now that I could understand if you didn't want anything to change. Certainly, it's not easy to have a new baby, no matter how much of a blessing it is. I can't say that I _like_ the idea of another labor, and it _is_ nice to finally have children who are old enough not to keep us up all night – so I could see that it might upset you to have to deal with raising an infant again."

After the moments of reflection he'd happened to experience tonight, Harold was more than prepared to refute her doubts. "It won't be easy, but you know as well as I do that there are so many wonderful things that make the difficulties of parenthood more than worth it. Watching our children grow from tiny enough to hold in our arms into independent, intelligent little people, watching them develop their own unique personalities and points of view and talents – there's nothing more amazing than that, and I can't feel anything but overjoyed about having another. Even the occasional little troubles with frogs don't seem so bad – "

" _Frogs_?" the librarian interrupted with an incredulous laugh. sitting up a little straighter. "Oh, don't tell me that this has something to do with William…"

Harold winked. "I think that's a story that I'll have to save for later. But my point is that I love every moment of being a father, even when things get hectic. I'm already happier than any one man has the right to be, especially a man like me, and yet tonight, you've managed to make me happier still. Another child is the most delightful surprise you could have given me – don't you ever say that you're bad at surprising me, darling!"

"Well, then – surprise!" Marian announced with a beaming smile, leaning up to place a gentle kiss on his lips. "Even though we hadn't planned this, the timing _does_ feel right to me this time – although even if it didn't, I suppose that this would still be what was meant to happen. When I think back on it, I _still_ feel guilty about the uncertainty I felt when I found out I was pregnant with Susie, but this time, I have no reason to feel so afraid. If I managed to carry and give birth to Susie while William was still an infant, and then to take care of a newborn and a one-year-old with all of their varying needs, along with Charlotte, too – well, anything else doesn't sound so hard at all anymore!"

That was another fact that made this particular pregnancy seem less imposing. They had conceived their third child while their second was still nursing, making the mistake of assuming that they would not need to worry about any precautions until their son was weaned. Marian hadn't even resumed her courses once after giving birth to William, and when a visit to the doctor had revealed that she was, in fact, pregnant, she had initially felt panic and dismay at what should have been joyous news – followed by guilt that she'd greeted that news with anything less than sheer elation. The fact that she'd ultimately been able to overcome her doubts in _that_ situation made Harold feel much more optimistic about this unplanned child than he might have been otherwise, and he was relieved to hear that Marian felt the same way – they had already proven that they could handle this under significantly more difficult circumstances.

"By the time that this baby is born, Susie will be four, and that's a perfectly reasonable gap between siblings. You shouldn't ever have to worry about being able to take care of all of our children – especially because I'll be with you every step of the way," Harold promised, squeezing her hand tightly. "We're a team, and we can accomplish anything together. You and I made a successful, acclaimed band out of nothing at all – surely we can handle four kids of our own!"

The librarian cuddled close to him, a flash of spirited tenacity in her eyes. "Didn't I tell you that I'm committing to embracing adventures now – especially with you? There's no greater adventure than bringing another child into the world!" Though she seemed much more encouraged by now, the music professor could tell that another uncertainty had entered her mind when her smile faded a bit and she abruptly shifted her gaze down to her fingernails. "Now that I know how happy you are, the only thing that truly concerns me, I suppose, is the number. We never discussed the possibility of having any more. Though if it would have been _such_ a bad thing – if we really thought we couldn't handle another – we could have taken precautions. We always had the option." She frowned slightly, beginning to doubt her own argument. "Although I suppose we might have merely been careless…"

Harold was quick to dismiss that possibility. "It wasn't just a single mistake, though, or a miscalculation. We made that choice, again and again, and clearly neither of us objected too strongly. So somehow, we'd already acknowledged that we wouldn't mind this happening. Yes, we _did_ decide on three back when we first started having children – but then, we haven't really discussed the matter ever since."

"Well, yes. I thought three sounded like a nice size for a family, but not so many that I'd risk having to give up my job at the library. But I'm sure four can be managed – and you're right that we never ruled out four, strictly speaking," she told him with a small smile. "Of course, any more than that would most certainly be _too_ many for me – we've absolutely got to commit ourselves to being careful after this baby is born! I don't think I have it in me to be the mother to _five_ , even when with a wonderful husband and father like you to help out. I want to be sure that I'm always able to have more in my life than _just_ being a mother – is it terribly selfish for a woman to say that?"

"Not at all," Harold replied with a firm shake of his head. "You're brilliant at what you do, darling, and I couldn't imagine what you _or_ River City would do if you weren't the librarian. And, as a father, I'd say that four is my limit, too, and I don't think that it's a bit selfish to want to keep our family to a manageable size. We want to be able to give each of our kids all of the time and attention they need, and to do that, we need to be able to remember all of their names! I'm no expert, but I think that to be the best parents that we can possibly be, we should be able to be fulfilled in _all_ parts of our life, including our work and our marriage. I imagine that it does children a disservice to have a pair of constantly exhausted, harried parents that can barely find enough hours in the day to treat them like parents should! But I have complete confidence that we can still have our cozy little family with four. This time, we'll just have to promise to keep it that way – and stick to it."

"Can we?" she asked, and though there was levity in her voice, her words were laced with real concern. "This will make our second lapse, after all. That's what worries me – _not_ that we're having another child, not at all, but that we've failed in preventing pregnancy twice already! Can we trust ourselves in the future? I don't want us to be overrun with children simply because we love each other so passionately. I _need_ to be able to work, Harold. You know that. Some women, maybe _most_ women, can be perfectly happy as housewives, but that could never be me. I love the library too much – it was my child before I had any of my own! And it's practically a miracle that I've been able to hold onto my job with one child, never mind three or four. Not to mention that I never want us to be so busy with children that we never have the time or energy to simply enjoy being husband and wife. As you said, I don't want our work _or_ our marriage to suffer."

Certainly, he could not pretend that those concerns hadn't crossed his mind as well – but the very fact that they were having this conversation right now gave him great confidence in their resolve. "Marian, I'm sure we can trust ourselves, because it's so important to us _and_ to the rest of our children that we do so," he assured her. "You made a good point when you said that we never quite ruled out four, and lately, we'd all but given up trying to prevent it, so I wouldn't exactly call this a lapse. But we're ruling out five, right now, and so I know we'll do the right thing for our family and follow through on that promise."

"It's just hard to imagine that we'll _never_ make a mistake again, or decide in the heat of the moment that we'd rather go without something – between us." She let the final words trail off into a whisper, obviously mortified at speaking so frankly about such an intimate detail while they were not actively engaged in lovemaking. "Passion and caution don't always work together so well."

Harold cast a glance at his nightstand, feeling mingled gratitude and annoyance for the "precautions" hidden therein – they were incredibly useful, but far from ideal, and the thought of using them _forever_ was vexing, no matter how prudent it would be.

"You're right. The damn things are just so inconvenient when one is... distracted by other matters. Of course, raising a passel of children while we both have jobs that we're devoted to as well would be _much_ more inconvenient than merely being conscientious about precautions, I know that, but I truly wish there were a better way – something that lent itself better to those who are as, well, _impulsive_ as we are. Something that wouldn't require a last-minute remembrance or detract in any way from how close we feel when we make love."

The librarian laughed, rolling her eyes. "Well, yes, that would be nice. _Lots_ of things would be nice. For example, I'd prefer diapers that would change themselves! But there's no easy way around it – we just have to work with what we have."

"So we'll work with it to the best of our ability," he said, wanting her to know that he wasn't going to let any complaints of mere inconvenience deter him from that aim. "After the baby is born, I'll – I'll fill all my pockets with prophylactics if you want me to, just so I can make love to you any time and as many times as we desire."

With a giggle, Marian shook her head, the blush induced by the delicate subject matter growing even deeper. "As if _that_ couldn't result in an embarrassing situation."

Harold chuckled as he imagined how terrible of an idea that would be if put into practice. "Well, I just mean that I'll do whatever I have to do to make sure that we can still make love whenever the mood strikes us _without_ having to worry that you'll become pregnant. I need to be more responsible – the consequences are much greater for you than for me, and I need to keep aware of that."

"You know as well as I do that it takes two," she admonished, patting his hand affectionately. "But thank you."

Pressing his lips into a tight line, the music professor drummed his fingers together in thought, trying to figure out if there was some solution that he simply wasn't seeing. "For all I know, my preventative knowledge could be well outdated. It's not the sort of thing that gets trumpeted in the newspapers, after all! I'll bet that there _must_ be more convenient ways, less intrusive ways, that are just as effective, maybe more. If it's okay with you, I'll even talk to Dr. Pyne when go tomorrow and ask him there's anything else we might be able to do to make sure. I promise, I'll do whatever it takes."

"Short of not making love to me, I hope," Marian said coyly, fluttering her lashes at him.

" _Never_ ," Harold responded almost before she'd finished speaking. "I want to promise you that I'll never allow my desire for you to take precedence over our plans for our family – but I'll also never allow the need to be careful to take away from our passion. I don't know if it's possible to achieve both things in balance, but we're going to _make_ it possible. If nobody's done it before, then we'll just have to be the first. Marian, nothing in the world could make me stop making love to you – unless, of course, _you_ no longer wanted me to, in which case – "

" _Never._ " The librarian placed her fingers on his lips while using her other hand to playfully dangle her seashell pendant before him, reminder of all their renewed promises and ever-growing passion. "It seems, Professor, that I only want you more and more all the time – and have I not already proven quite thoroughly that _every_ burning, distracting, all-consuming desire you feel for me, I return quite equally? Or do you want a reminder?"

How she could make herself look so glowingly innocent and yet so frankly sensual all at once, he couldn't know – it wasn't necessarily done on purpose, either, because she'd had that look about her since long, long before she'd ever discovered her sensual side. But she certainly delighted in intentionally stirring him up these days, and the saucy way that she arched her brow and pouted those perfect crimson lips was enough to make him want to tear off her nightgown and spend the next several hours ravishing her.

 _And she said that she feels the exact same way…_ He shouldn't have been surprised by that fact in general, given all that they'd shared and confessed to each other throughout their marriage, but he still found it hard to believe that she could be feeling so amorous right now after he'd witnessed how pale and exhausted she'd been before dinner.

"You know, I'd love to see what kind of reminder you can give me – but I thought you might be too tired tonight," he admitted, even as she pressed closer to him and proceeded to bestow light, fluttery kisses against his neck. "We can always make love in the morning, if you'd prefer..."

Marian pulled back, her expression a tad exasperated with his overbearing concern. "I _did_ have a nap, which made quite the difference." The impish smile spread across her face again, and she trailed her fingers through his wavy brown locks and down to the short fringe at the back of his neck, making him sigh in contentment. "And you of all people, Professor, should know that fatigue, or all manner of other complaints, can become rather insignificant when one is feeling very, very much in love with a certain exceptionally attractive person..."

"Well, I couldn't be sure how bad you were feeling – _I've_ never been pregnant."

He had never been the type to blush, to say the least, but the music professor felt heat rushing rapidly to his face as he realized the sheer stupidity of what he'd just said – and he knew that she was not about to let that remark slide by!

Sure enough, Marian clasped his hands in her own and gazed up into his eyes with mock solemnity – though her features were already quivering with the overwhelming desire to laugh. "Thank you for the clarification, darling. I could never be sure."

When she burst into delighted laughter at last, she threw her arms around him to pull her down with her, and husband and wife tumbled back into the pillows together in a fit of mirth and happiness. On a mischievous, amorous impulse, Harold decided to turn the tables by pinning Marian beneath him, letting his tickling fingers dance up and down her arms and her sides, and she laughed and squirmed helplessly against him. Harold grinned even more broadly as he imagined how he could shortly have his gorgeous wife writhing against him for completely different reasons, running her lithe hands over every inch of his body in return, moaning his name as she begged him for more...

But, while he wasn't eager to say anything that would spoil that delicious prospect, a certain alarming-yet-amusing thought suddenly intruded on his mind, and he found that he couldn't keep the words from spilling out.

"You know who's never going to let us hear the end of this, don't you?" he said, stopping in his tickling momentarily to lean up on one arm and gaze down at her, one eyebrow raised.

Marian smirked. "My mother?"

"Oh, her, too, but I was thinking of someone significantly... tinier."

"Charlotte!" the librarian exclaimed, her eyes growing wide with dismay. "Goodness, you're right - she was so very keen on finding out where babies come from a couple of months ago, and that was _without_ having any particular reason to ask. I can't imagine that she'll let me get through this pregnancy without getting some information out of me!"

The music professor was struck by a certain memory that made the situation seem even more dire – and, he had to admit, more amusing, too. "Do you think she remembers the time she nearly walked in on us? She was only about three – could she remember that?"

"Oh, no – I hadn't even been thinking about that," Marian wailed, turning to bury her face in the pillow as she giggled helplessly. "If I'm not incredibly careful with what I say, she's going to enter the first grade knowing far, far too much about the facts of life! That confirms it – taking care of an infant is nothing compared to dealing with a precocious child who's grown old enough to ask questions that we don't want to answer. At least we have ample experience with infants by now!"

"Yes – and at least we have a lock on our door by now," Harold murmured, playfully trailing kisses along the swell of her breasts at the neckline of her nightgown, which he tugged lower with every passing moment.

"One of the best investments we've ever made," she attested through her quickening gasps as his hands and mouth explored her sensitive skin – and then, as if their words had summoned it, a sound came from just outside the door, causing them to stop their canoodling and sit upright in alarm, wondering if someone was seeking entry to that thankfully-locked door after all. But after a moment of listening so intently that they were barely breathing, they fell back to the bed, laughing in relief, as they realized that it was simply the scratching of little cat claws on the doorframe, the source made even more obvious when they were accompanied by a high, plaintive yowl.

Harold waggled his eyebrows at Marian in mock horror, even as he eased her out of her nightgown and traced her delectable curves with his hands. "Oh, no – do you think we can handle four children _and_ the cat? Somehow, we forgot to factor _her_ into the discussion..."

The librarian rolled her eyes heavenward with a knowing smile. "Harold Hill, if I can handle you, I can handle anything."

He let out a low chuckle, his lips still pressed against her neck as he paused in administering a hard, wet love-bite. "Can you? Handle me, I mean?"

As she pulled his shirt from his shoulders and flung it to the floor, she met his smoldering gaze with one that burned just as hotly, and, in her most sultry, seductive tone, challenged: "Try me."

The way that Marian could send two little words directly below his belt shouldn't have surprised Harold, but it still _did_ , somehow. He was still astonished every time at the extraordinary eroticism of their lovemaking, how much she turned him on and how wildly passionate she was – and all of this as she gave herself to him, body and soul, as the most open, affectionate, selfless lover that any man could ever dream of.

As his wife gazed enticingly back at him, blonde curls spilling all around her shoulders and hazel eyes dark with longing, he wanted her so fiercely that he couldn't think straight – and, considering that she had just made a point of assuring him that she felt the very same way, the thought of his dear little librarian aching for him as badly as he did for her was simply impossible to resist. Divesting himself of his remaining garments as quickly as he could, he pulled her against him and let their bodies tangle together on the bed, her soft, smooth skin feeling like silk against his own.

She melted beneath him as he teased and tantalized her, sighing in affirmation even as she pleaded with him to touch her more, to kiss her more, to make love to her, and all while she returned his every caress with equal fervor... Harold could barely believe that he was lucky enough to have this beautiful, brilliant, fascinating woman once again carrying a child that they had created through their love.

And as he lost himself to the sweet, intoxicating bliss of loving Marian, he reveled in the knowledge that she could surprise him in so many wonderful ways – and that there were simply no limits to how much joy they could find in the life that they'd built together.


	2. Curiosity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to bump the rating to M due to Harold and Marian's absolute inability to keep their hands off each other, no matter what I try to write them doing. I'm just going to go ahead and assume that nobody minds much. Least of all them. ;)

While Marian knew it was prudent to keep others' knowledge of her pregnancy to a minimum in the earliest months when there was still too much of a chance that something might go wrong, it was just about impossible to keep it hidden from her mother, who was had always been highly attuned to her daughter's moods and mannerisms and who had seen her pregnant three times before. Within days after the librarian had made her wonderful discovery and had it confirmed by Dr. Pyne, Mrs. Paroo knew that there was only one rational explanation why her daughter was sick, tired and yet glowingly happy.

"I was waiting on an announcement from Winthrop and Amaryllis within the next few months, but I certainly wasn't thinking that I'd get one from you, too – especially since you'd already assured me that you and your Professor already had all the kids you could handle!" she exclaimed after the librarian confirmed her suspicions, turning away from the dough she was kneading to wrap her daughter up in a floury hug.

"It did come as a bit of a surprise," Marian admitted.

At that, a twinkle came into Mrs. Paroo's green eyes. "Well, it couldn't have been _that_ much of a surprise. You two were on your second honeymoon, after all – I'm sure that you gave that child plenty of opportunities to come into existence!"

" _Mama!_ " the librarian cried with a blushing smile as she sank down into a kitchen chair. "You say the most shameless things!"

"Now, darling, there's no shame in a husband and wife enjoying each other's company." With a brilliant wink over her shoulder as she turned back to her dough, she made it unmistakably clear exactly what kind of _enjoyment_ she was referring to.

"Yes, but should a mother talk about it with her daughter?" As she realized what she was saying, Marian let out a heavy sigh, several different reasons why she was wrong already springing to mind. "Maybe she should, actually. If only I hadn't been too embarrassed to talk to you before my wedding, I would have saved myself a lot of heartache." Drumming her fingers against the table, she shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "And now that _I'm_ the mother, I had better learn how to talk about things like that…"

"Whatever are you mumbling about, my dear?" her mother clucked. There was a hint of good-natured exasperation in her voice – she could never stand to listen to Marian hem and haw about something for long, and it was this tendency that had so often helped to keep her daughter's fretting at bay over the years. As much as it jarred her sometimes, the librarian was grateful for her mother's bluntness, as it balanced out her own inclination to wallow in her worries.

"I've been a bit worried about Charlotte," Marian confessed. "Oh, nothing's wrong, of course, it's just that – well, a few months ago, she'd hinted about being curious about how babies are made, and once she knows that I'm pregnant, I'm certain that she's going to be full of all sorts of questions. If she asks, I don't know what I can do."

Mrs. Paroo let out an amused chuckle. "You can answer her, first of all!"

Now it was the librarian's turn to be mildly exasperated – she should have expected her mother to tease her by answering literally! "Of course, but how? I was several years older when _you_ told me such things, and I was still absolutely horrified. "

"Not every girl is a blushing rose like you, you realize," said Mrs. Paroo with another wink, patting her daughter's hair.

Marian just about had to bite her tongue to resist pointing out that she was far from a blushing rose these days, but she certainly didn't want her mother thinking about _that_! Truth be told, her mother probably knew that already, no matter what she said – she had a way of knowing everything about Marian, whether she ever expressed it aloud or not – but it wasn't a discussion that the librarian wanted to have, to say the least.

"Maybe they don't all _stay_ that way, but I'm quite certain that no child of Charlotte's age would be pleased to hear anything remotely close to the whole truth," she said instead.

"Well, you don't need to tell her any more than she asks for," her mother responded sagely. "She might not be asking what you _think_ she's asking… and chances are, she'll be satisfied with a lot less than you're imagining that you have to tell her."

"Don't underestimate Charlotte," Marian laughed. "Have you ever known her to _stop_ asking about anything?"

"As smart as she is, she's still very little, and as soon as she hits upon something that she can't understand, she'll have heard enough for the time being. There are ways to explain things without telling her everything all at once, after all."

"You told _me_ all at once," the librarian pointed out with a wry smile.

Her mother threw her hands up in resignation, creating a little rain of flour. "You never asked before then, and I couldn't know that you ever would again! Don't forget that you were a good bit older, too. What was I supposed to do, let you think you were bleedin' to death when you started, and know nothing about the way your own body worked? I knew I would upset you – I don't think any child ever takes it well, and you were always such a prim and proper thing. But somehow, you still turned out just fine, and I trust you completely to find the right things to say to your children, dear, more than I ever trusted myself, that's for certain. Why, I hadn't half of your highfalutin' words to talk to _you_ with! I'm sure that you could dress things up more prettily than I could ever dream of." Mrs. Paroo tapped a flour-covered finger to her daughter's nose, making her laugh. "And with your fine-looking husband and four children to show for it, I've no doubt that you've got plenty of perspective on just how _pretty_ it all is," she added.

" _Mama!_ " Marian protested, more out of principle than the possibility that it would do any good.

Sure enough, the Irish matron let out a jovial laugh, not heeding her daughter's token outrage in the slightest. "Oh, a mother knows what goes on, and there's no need trying to deny it. You two have been flint and steel from the moment that you first laid eyes on each other," she crowed. Wrapping her arms around her daughter from behind, Mrs. Paroo kissed the top of her head. "And it's precisely what I always wanted for you."

Though she was still blushing furiously at the thought of her mother giving any thought to her intimacy with Harold, Marian had to admit that her mother really had known best, all along – it seemed that everybody besides herself had somehow been able to recognize her deep yearning to be loved passionately, not just intellectually.

And moments later, when Harold and the children burst into the kitchen from the backyard, the librarian couldn't help but burst into a beaming smile the moment her eyes met her husband's. When he walked into a room, she was so often reduced to making eyes at him like a hopelessly infatuated young girl instead of his wife of seven years – and in return, Harold gazed at her like he'd just discovered for the first time how very much he adored her. All it took was that one look, and already they were dreaming about the next time that they would be in each other's arms.

 _We really are incredibly obvious_ , Marian thought for what was far from the first time – it was no surprise at all that her mother could perceive the extent of their passion, and it was doubtless true that all of River City had always seen it written on their faces just as plainly.

But, if that was the price for having such a wonderfully happy and fulfilling marriage, she had long ago decided that she simply didn't care.

xxx

When Marian was in her fourth month and her pregnancy was beginning to show outwardly, the librarian and music professor began to discuss how they were going to announce the good news to the other children – they wanted to do it just before it became public knowledge in River City, so that there was no chance that they would hear it from somebody else before their own parents.

Of course, nothing ever went quite as planned wherever the children were concerned, and, on the very evening that they'd planned to make their happy announcement over dinner, their plans were overturned by none other than the irrepressible Charlotte.

After throwing her arms around Marian right as she'd walked into the house upon arriving home from work, Charlotte suddenly looked up at her with huge brown eyes as she became aware of the slight but firm roundness of her mother's belly pressed against her cheek, a phenomenon whose significance had been proven to her two times before.

Brown eyes growing huge, the girl splayed a small hand across Marian's stomach. "Mama, are you having another baby?" she exclaimed, her voice climbing several octaves as she spoke.

Within seconds, the younger two children came bolting out of the parlor, closely pursued by a grinning Harold. In evidence of how abruptly that they'd pulled themselves away from their previous pursuits, Susie had a rag doll dangling from each hand and William was still clutching a wooden car.

"Is that true?" the little boy squeaked, his expression one of comically exaggerated shock.

Marian couldn't help but laugh as she hugged Charlotte close – she shouldn't have been surprised that her eldest daughter would have been observant enough to pick up on her growing belly, but she had never imagined it resulting in a scene like _this_!

"Yes, it's true. In about five months, you're going to have a new brother or sister," she announced – and the children's shock quickly erupted into joyful chaos.

Harold and Marian had known that this pregnancy would be a good deal different from the others because they now had multiple children who were old enough to understand that it was happening, and they'd been a bit worried that they might face reactions of displeasure or jealousy from one of them. But, at least in theory, all three of the young Hills were thrilled at the prospect of welcoming a new sibling.

Susie, in particular, was beside herself with excitement. Though she was scarcely out of babyhood herself, she had an immense fondness for babies, and had often made wistful comments expressing her desire for a little sister or brother. Marian suspected that Susie's view of babies was more than a little romanticized, and she might not be _so_ thrilled by the reality of an infant who needed burping and changing and woke the entire family up at all hours of the night – but she had such a gentle and nurturing nature that she was bound to be a wonderful big sister regardless. The most worrying comment she made was that she wished that she hadn't used up the name "Strawberry" on the cat – apparently, she thought that it would be a fine suggestion for a baby girl!

As both his parents had suspected he would do, William immediately expressed his hopes that the baby would be a boy so he could have another playmate besides his father in their decidedly female-dominated family. His mother knew that he would cherish his new sibling in either case, however – much like Harold, William had a kind and immensely loving heart underneath his bold and brassy exterior, and when Susie had been a baby, they'd often caught him patting or kissing her on the head when the mood struck him.

For Charlotte, the whole event had become almost routine by this point, although still exciting; the experiences of her short life had taught her that new babies were bound to come along every couple of years, and she had rather grown to expect it!

"If people have babies because they love each other, then you and Daddy must love each other a _lot_ , because you're _always_ having babies," she'd announced, causing Marian to blush and share a secret little smile with Harold across the hall.

"Of course," she affirmed. "Your father and I love each other very, very much. "

"But even if we don't have any more babies after this one, that doesn't mean that we love each other any less," Harold quickly added – and it was very wise of him to clarify that point, the librarian thought, considering their intentions for the future!

Just as Marian had expected, though, it became clear in the coming days that her eldest daughter was no longer satisfied with the idea that babies were made through some esoteric combination of love and marriage and God. The librarian had never lied to her children on the topic of reproduction, and she certainly never would – she had just been vague but truthful. But, while William and Susie were still young enough to fully accept the explanation that God formed babies in their mothers' wombs, Charlotte clearly recognized that something as physical as the growth of a child could not be explained in strictly spiritual terms.

She'd always had an analytical mind that couldn't bear not knowing the mechanics and the logic behind things. Certainly she'd learned to accept that her mother and father did not necessarily have the know-how to explain _all_ of the curious things in the world, like how a telephone could send a voice through wires or how a needle on a record could bring forth a song, but they had obviously made babies themselves several times, so she thought that it was more than reasonable to expect an answer to whatever she might ask – and she was right.

However, Marian wanted to have this discussion one-on-one – she wanted to be able to answer Charlotte truthfully without worrying about saying something that would shock or upset the younger two. Certainly, it was difficult enough just to figure out what to say to one child! So, as much as she did not want to discourage her daughter's natural curiosity, she was forced to downplay her responses to some of her more difficult inquiries when she posed them in front of the whole family.

"Darling, ask me sometime when we're alone together, and I'll talk to you about whatever you wish," Marian assured Charlotte one evening after she had come out with a particularly uncomfortable question.

"All right," Charlotte answered, disappointed. But there was that something in the little girl's expression that alarmed Marian – a hint of shame, like she had interpreted her mother's response as a scolding.

Just this little moment had already filled the librarian with anxiety all over again. They'd not even begun their discussion yet, and she'd already managed to do something wrong, all while having only the best intentions in mind. What could she possibly do to handle this situation correctly? If she were too circumspect, she could cause her daughter to think that the topic was unmentionable, yet if she were too forthright, she could horrify her – and possibly the other children, as well.

With no idea what else she could do, she was desperate to hear her husband's opinion. Though she knew that Harold was every bit as inexperienced in this arena as she was, she also thought that he might be able to look at the situation more rationally, as he wouldn't be blinded by Victorian primness in the way that she so often was.

Not that Marian would consider herself too prim anymore, at least, not half as much as she'd used to be, but there was an enormous difference between the way that she could be with Harold alone and the way that she was with everybody else. There was a complete disconnect in her mind between those two situations – she felt no embarrassment whatsoever at delighting in all manner of wicked, wild lovemaking with her husband, as well as shamelessly enjoying all of the deliciously naughty things that he whispered in her ear, and had even become rather comfortable with using a few erotic words herself… but the very idea of pronouncing the anatomical terms for those same things in a simple scientific context still made her pale at its indelicateness.

After days of mentally rehearsing her potential conversation with Charlotte – and imagining every way that it might go terribly wrong – Marian had already exhausted herself from worrying, and the music professor was picking up on her restless mood.

As he'd often done whenever she was pregnant, he had climbed into bed with her that night and begun lavishing a series of gentle kisses across her abdomen, talking to the baby and expressing his love for both mother and child. Of course, Marian felt a swell of overwhelming love come rushing through her heart – but even thinking about the baby brought back the memory of Charlotte's look of embarrassment earlier that night and put a significant damper on her lightheartedness. The librarian's giggles and sighs of happiness soon trailed off as a storm cloud of pensive feeling settled over her, and her husband noticed the change in her demeanor instantly.

"What's bothering you?" Harold inquired, looking up at his wife in concern. "You haven't seemed quite right all evening."

It was rather a relief that he was so good at detecting her anxious moods himself, for Marian could never quite shake the worry that she was burdening him by being the first to bring these things up, no matter how many times he assured her that she could tell him anything.

"You can probably guess what it is – I can't stop thinking about what I'm going to say to Charlotte," she said with a rueful sigh. "You realize that if I say something wrong, I could upset her for _years_? It's a terribly worrying responsibility, and I'm not sure if I even know what the right thing to say would entail!"

Ceasing his attentions to her stomach and crawling back up the bed, her husband wrapped her in an embrace and pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, and Marian eagerly clung to him for comfort.

"Well, it's likely that nobody ever gets it perfectly right, but you're hardly going to give the _worst_ explanation that's ever been given," he assured her.

She rolled her eyes at him with a playful smirk. "Your confidence in me is truly inspiring."

"Well, you know what I mean. Think of all those parents who never had a single positive experience in the bedroom themselves – or those who don't even tell their kids anything at all. You know you'll do a better job than they would. And it's better that she hears things first from you, before she goes around asking her questions at school." Harold leaned up on his elbow, a teasing grin spreading across his face. "After all, plenty of the kids in this town have grown up around farm animals…"

The librarian cringed as she realized what he was implying. "But – but it isn't like _that_ at all!"

"Then that's why we need to make sure that our kids know that," he pronounced. "Seems to me that if a parent doesn't tell them otherwise, kids are going to absorb all the wrong things: girls will hear the kinds of things that you did, that it's dirty and sordid and sinful, even with a husband that they love, and boys – well, unless they're running with an exceptionally refined crowd, boys are going to hear that they ought to take what they can find, wherever they find it, from whoever's offering, and damn the consequences. We both know that neither one of those roads leads to happiness."

Marian sighed, running her fingers through his wavy, dark hair – he was absolutely right, of course, but it seemed that she was faced with an impossible task. "But how do you communicate messages about love and intimacy to a child who's bound to be disgusted by the whole thing for many years to come?" she lamented. "I'm sure that no child who learns about lovemaking for the first time can imagine that they might ever _desire_ such a thing. I think – I think desire is the sort of thing that one can never understand before they've experienced it, and no amount of explanation can prepare a person for it. And, clearly, it takes much longer for some than others to understand what desire means, and there's no way to know when it will happen for any given person – I never, ever dreamed of anything beyond kissing before I met you, but it's not as though there aren't plenty of teenagers landing themselves in trouble every day! I don't want our children to be among _them_ any more than I want them to think of lovemaking as shameful."

"True," said Harold, shaking his head with a brief, humorless laugh. "I sure don't want our sons to think the kinds of things that _I_ did – I certainly hope we can raise William with enough integrity that he won't think that it's acceptable to seduce and manipulate women." As he turned back to his wife, his expression softened. "But, darling, I imagine that teaching these values and things is a process that takes years. You can't expect a child who's just learned about the facts of life to have the same attitude that she'll take to her marriage bed! If she's appalled at first, I think that's perfectly natural. Talking about why one would actually _want_ to make love, and when one shouldn't and whatnot, can come later, when she's got a better chance of understanding it. Right now, she's not asking you for anything more than for a little hint about how this baby got into your belly!" He let his fingers dance up and down over the swollen little mound of her stomach as he spoke, making Marian laugh and sigh with happiness once again as she felt her burden lighten.

"I suppose that I _am_ getting well ahead of myself with these worries," she said, relaxing a little more. "All I know is that I'll do everything possible to make sure that my children are more prepared for those feelings than _I_ was. I know now that my mother would have helped me through my doubts during our engagement if I'd only dared to ask, but I do hope that our children will feel more comfortable asking than I did. Though I can't blame my mother for what was ultimately an issue of my own squeamishness. It's just that before I met you, I had no particular interest in knowing those things, at least, not beyond the rudimentary biological facts, and then once I _did_ start to learn what it felt like to desire a man – it was all far too private to talk about." Her breath caught in her throat a little as a rush of memories came upon her, and all at once she was no longer thinking about anything except the way that he made her feel, now and always. "The sort of things that I was feeling for the first time, and the _places_ that I felt them… I couldn't have my mother know that."

A grin spread slowly across Harold's handsome face, and as he drew her closer, hands gently massaging up and down her arms, she knew he was reveling in the memories of being the one to awaken his maiden librarian's body and mind in ways that no other man would ever know.

"When did you first know that you wanted me?" he murmured, his voice low and velvety. "More than just kisses, that is – _really_ wanted me."

It wasn't as if he didn't know every detail of her sensual awakening by now, but both of them still found it absolutely delightful to revisit those innocent yet erotically charged moments in which she'd realized that her body needed something from him that she'd never known that she'd been missing, as he'd gently stirred and provoked and taught her just how ready she really was for the consummation of their love. There was few things quite like remembering those months she'd spent physically aching for him, the two of them letting their minds and bodies recall the intense frustration of having to restrain and stifle the full extent of their passion as it grew and grew and then, at last, to give into temptation in a way that they never could have at the time.

Closing her eyes, Marian considered those early days, trying to remember what it had felt like when he'd provoked those first stirrings in locations decidedly less sentimental than the heart.

"It's hard to say when it started, seeing as I was too overwhelmed to admit it to myself in the beginning. But maybe it was the first time you did this," she whispered softly, leaning down to nibble at his lip and seeking entrance with her tongue. He had first kissed her _that_ way after they had courted for about a week, and she had been a little startled that such a thing was actually practiced – but she could see why, for it was heated and luxurious and wonderfully intimate, and for the first time, the librarian had fully comprehended that Harold Hill knew so, so many ways to make her feel good, and that eventually, he would be able to teach her all of them.

He yielded to her demonstration of the memory easily, and before long, he was crushing her against him, hands tangled in her hair, kissing her far more heatedly and urgently than he ever had during their courtship – well, at least, except for a couple of rather ill-advised instances. She eagerly leaned in even closer and clasped him tightly to her in return, yearning to feel more of him, but just before her exploring hands could make it below his waist, he broke the kiss rather abruptly and leaned back to look into her eyes, a sly grin on his face.

After a moment, when the clouds of urgent desire had cleared from her mind, she realized why he'd brought a stop to such a promising moment – he was obviously intent on finishing the little game that they'd started. Marian couldn't help feeling a little frustrated that he was teasing her so, but she also knew never to doubt Harold's plans when it came to seduction. The more he tormented her, the more satisfying it would be when he ultimately gave her what she craved. Thinking of it that way, she trembled to even imagine what he had in store.

He took his time gently brushing her hair away from her neck and letting his warm breath dance across her skin, and his mouth was close enough that she felt the vibrations of his voice when he asked: "What about when I did this?" He pressed his lips to her neck, first gently but then harder and harder, and she squirmed in his arms, letting out a series of high-pitched gasps as he rendered her utterly helpless in his arms.

It was not lost on her how swiftly he'd managed to take the lead away from her, but she was at all not inclined to protest as he trailed his mouth across her smooth skin, licking and nibbling at all of the places that he knew to be highly sensitive. Marian desperately wanted him to run his hands all over her body as well, to undress her and pull her close, yet he kept them stubbornly at her waist, evidently in strict adherence to the spirit of the memory.

Yes, the first time he had given her a love-bite had been the first time she'd been fully conscious of what all these kisses were ultimately leading to, had they not always had to stop themselves well short of it… and that night at the dance, she'd become aware that if it weren't for the all of the practical reasons why she couldn't, she would have eagerly allowed him to keep going, even encouraged him in that course, if it only meant knowing the way his hands and mouth and body would feel all over her, _everywhere_...

Which was precisely what she wanted from him right now, but she predicted that he was going bring things to a stop again before he gave in and made love to her – and, indeed, he did, pulling away from her after a few minutes even though his pulse was pounding and his breathing unsteady as hers. But this time, Marian knew that she needn't be disappointed for long, and she breathlessly awaited the next memory that he would choose to reenact.

Harold was still grinning, but his expression was now blazing with lustful hunger, a look that was enough to make her abdomen tighten and her hands clutch at the sheets involuntarily. A panting little mewl escaped her lips as he slid his warm hands along her curves and settled them on her hips, and she begged him with her eyes to continue.

Thankfully, he was more than ready to do so. "Certainly, you knew what you wanted by the time I did _this_ ," he growled, and, capturing her lips in another fierce, unrestrained kiss, he grasped her backside tightly and pulled her atop him so he could thrust his hips against hers, letting her feel how incredibly hard he already was, how he was somehow growing harder still at this tantalizing contact. The thin fabric of their nightclothes did very little to keep their most intimate regions apart, and Marian whimpered softly, the combination of the heated memory and the current sensation of his arousal pressing between her legs sending a fierce, knee-weakening surge of lust throughout her body.

"Oh, _yes_ ," she moaned, rocking her hips against him in return, needing him as urgently as she needed to breathe.

When he reached for her buttons – and did nothing to stop her when she reached for his in return – she was utterly relieved that he'd given up on teasing her and playing games at last. Their passion heightened by those vivid memories of the agonizingly unfulfilled desires of their courtship, they tugged desperately at each other's nightclothes, almost affronted that anything in the world dared to come between them right now.

As soon as Harold had undone the first few buttons of her nightgown, his warm, wet mouth was already on her breasts, and she let out a strangled cry as he lavished affection upon that most admired part of her anatomy. Even when she wasn't pregnant, she was always extremely sensitive there, but now – now the sensation was enough to her make her vision go blurry and her eyelids flutter uncontrollably, and the fact that he was still pressing his cloth-covered erection right at the center of her pleasure made the whole thing overwhelming in the most wonderful way.

While the librarian was rather quickly reduced to gasping out a jumbled mix of words consisting mostly of "yes" and "please" and "Harold", her husband had somehow managed to hold onto a shred of coherency. As he finally got her completely her free of her nightgown and allowed his eyes to travel along her naked form, he let out a long, reverent sigh.

"What a privilege to be the man who awakened your passions – the only man who gets to experience this side of you. And you, hot-blooded little minx that you are, you took to it so well, so easily," Harold murmured as he ran his hands through her silken blonde hair and along the smooth expanse of her back, lifting her up so she was sitting astride his lap. "You were _made_ for this, darling."

Marian loved the sound of that, scandalous as it was, and her face lit up with a dreamy, sensual smile as she trailed her hands down his abdomen.

"I think you're right," she breathed seductively. "And I think you love it."

"That's no great surprise," Harold said with a ragged laugh, hands clutching feverishly at her hips.

"Really?" Marian teased, eyebrows arched. "Is _this_?"

And, without preamble, she took him in hand and sank down onto him, arching her back on a low moan while he shuddered and swore in pleasure. Long past the point of being shocked by this, Marian was only aroused further to know that she could so easily push him so far beyond reason, and she looked forward to having many more opportunities to do so tonight… as well as being driven blissfully out of her mind by him in return.

After all, nobody would have ever doubted that Harold Hill was made for this sort of thing, too.

xxx

After nearly two weeks without any difficult questions from Charlotte, Marian was starting to wonder if her daughter had simply lost interest in the subject after all. It did make her feel more than a little guilty to know that she hadn't gotten the chance to give a straightforward answer to any of the questions that she'd asked before, but she also knew that it would only create further awkwardness if she were to try to bring up the subject herself – with the mercurial moods and thoughts of a precocious almost-seven-year-old, it was very well possible that Charlotte really didn't care anymore!

That was why, even after all she'd done to prepare herself for that moment, it still came as a genuine surprise when her daughter finally took her up on her offer to converse in private.

Marian had gone up to the girls' room one sunny Saturday morning in late October to fold and hang up their clean laundry. Charlotte, perched on the edge of her bed, sat swinging her legs and chattering away to her mother about all sorts of things when the topic had turned to the new baby, as it so often did. It was among a series of perfectly innocuous musings on the possible color of the baby's hair that she abruptly blurted out:

"So, I was wondering – how does your body know that you're married?"

While the question was vague, the librarian recognized the nature of what she was being asked, and her hands froze around the clothes-hanger she was holding, mild panic sweeping through her body. This was it – they were alone, so this conversation was really going to happen. While she didn't want to make things appear overly formal, she figured that she really ought to be sitting next to her daughter for this, so she abandoned the clothes and joined Charlotte at the foot of the bed. "What do you mean, dear?" she prompted, trying to remain level-headed even as her heart began to race from nerves.

"Well, if a baby only starts growing inside a woman who's married, there must be something different about people who _are_ married and people who _aren't_. There has to be something that starts the baby growing," the girl explained, obviously proud of her logical deduction.

Marian nodded, and, despite herself, her voice grew a little tight and unnatural as she answered. "That's true. There _is_ something that starts it."

In response to her mother's sudden reticence, Charlotte tensed up a little, too, and started toying with the ribbons on her braids, a nervous habit of hers. "You don't like it when I talk about that," she observed keenly. "Is it something _bad_?"

At that, the librarian felt her heart drop a little – this was _exactly_ what she hadn't wanted to happen. Somehow she'd made a mess of things already, and made Charlotte feel guilty for asking. Taking in a deep breath and trying to muster up a smile, she tried to steady herself. Getting _more_ flustered now could only make matters worse.

"No, no, there's nothing bad about it," she hurried to clarify. "It's just that it's a bit of a complicated matter. That's all."

"I can understand. I understand lots of things," Charlotte insisted.

"I know you do," Marian said warmly, kissing her daughter atop the waves of chestnut hair that were so like Harold's. "The simplest way I can explain it is that a man and a woman have bodies that are designed in different ways, and that difference allows them to contribute two different halves that combine to make one baby. That's why you and your siblings look like your father and also like me. We – we made you together."

Charlotte nodded slowly, intrigued but clearly more confused than ever, and Marian was not surprised when she immediately sought more details. " _How_ does that happen, though? How can people do that? I can't imagine it."

For a brief moment, the librarian was afraid that she was going to have to tell her daughter something that she wouldn't like hearing after all – but as she hesitated and searched frantically for the right words, her mother's words came back to mind, complete with Irish lilt and matter-of-fact calmness.

_She might not be asking what you think she's asking… and chances are, she'll be satisfied with a lot less than you're imagining that you have to tell her._

Suddenly, Marian thought that she understood just what her mother had meant. There was so much that Charlotte still didn't know, and she had to remember to start there, to answer her questions based on the information that the girl already had instead of what an adult might suspect she wanted to know. Looking at the question from her daughter's perspective, Marian realized that the response that would satisfy her could be simpler than she'd thought.

"Well, as boys and girls grow older, their bodies go through changes to become the bodies of men and women, and then they become able to make a baby with somebody they love, if they wish – once they are married," the librarian explained, relieved that she'd managed to find an answer that was not at all inappropriate. "It's not something that you can imagine now because your body isn't able to do that, but it will be, someday."

"Oh," Charlotte answered, wrinkling her freckled nose in displeasure – clearly, she found the idea of her body ever changing to be highly unpalatable, even without knowing what those changes entailed. In that moment, Marian was enormously grateful that she hadn't been so foolish as to launch into an explanation of marital relations, if even that small detail had already proven distressing to her daughter!

Still, the librarian didn't dismiss the possibility that Charlotte might want more of an explanation, and she stalwartly braced herself for whatever question might be coming next.

Charlotte tilted her head, pursing her lips for a moment, before her eyes widened in renewed inquisitiveness. "How – how _big_ is the baby right now?" she asked, scooting closer and laying her hands across Marian's belly – to her mother's immense relief, it appeared that Charlotte's curiosity had abruptly switched focus! "She must be really small if she still has months and months to grow before she can come out."

Marian couldn't help but let out a little laugh as her tension started to melt away – was that _it_? Could the conversation she'd feared so much really been over so quickly and painlessly? "I don't know that for certain, actually, dear! But I'm sure I can find a book that will tell us."

"I wonder what it's like for her in there." She had a deeply contemplative look in her eyes, rather undercut by the childish way that she stuck out her bottom lip as she often did when she was thinking deeply about something. "I don't think I can remember being in there at all."

"No, nobody does. She – or he – won't remember, either," Marian told her, still slightly in shock that her daughter's inquiries had suddenly become so much easier to handle.

"How does she breathe, though?" Charlotte asked, this conundrum seemingly occurring to her for the first time.

The librarian laughed softly, aware of how strange what she was about to say would sound. "She doesn't need to, actually."

Charlotte's eyes widened in stunned fascination. "Doesn't need to _breathe_?"

From the intensity with which she posed these questions and the utter awe with which she received the answers, it was already obvious that the baby's development was far more fascinating to her than simply the conception – and this was a branch of the subject on which Marian was more than willing to indulge her daughter's interest!

Keeping Charlotte's request in mind when she returned to work on Monday, the librarian located a book that she had consulted during her first pregnancy, one which was far too difficult for her daughter to read but which contained interesting diagrams depicting the stages of fetal development. As Marian explained the process to her in terms that she could understand, Charlotte was duly amazed that all unborn babies started out looking, as she termed it, "like a fish" – and she requested to be kept abreast of everything that was happening as the baby continued growing over the coming months.

So, in the end, it seemed that Marian had worried needlessly that Charlotte would be too persistent for her own good in seeking answers about the facts of life, for, after that single conversation, the girl appeared to have deemed the entire business uninteresting – and, perhaps, a little too closely linked with the dreadful topic of growing up. Her new interest in tracking the growth of the baby turned out to be quite intriguing for the entire family, as well, helping them to feel that much closer to their new family member as they awaited his or her arrival.

And, to Harold's endless amusement, Charlotte took great pride in informing everybody she met about her new brother or sister who was constantly swimming and didn't need to eat, drink or breathe – but who, at least, did not resemble a fish any longer.

"Let's hope that she's not so keen on announcing her knowledge to everybody by the time that you really _do_ end up telling her the facts of life," the music professor whispered in Marian's ear with a wry grin after their eldest had given another one of her grand reports on the baby's current state, this time to a captive audience of Jack, Ben, and Hazel Washburn.

Blushing, the librarian hid a giggle behind her hand. "Goodness, I certainly hope she won't be! I mean, certainly she won't be." Biting her lip, she cast a sidelong glance at him. "Won't she?"

Harold laughed, wrapping an arm around his wife's waist and letting his fingers rest on her curved belly. "We can only hope – but I've long ago given up on predicting _anything_ when it comes to raising kids..."


	3. La Vie en Rose

A few times each month, Charlotte, William and Susie would spend the night at the house of a friend or family member, and Harold and Marian were free to relax for the evening in a brief reprieve from the stresses of parenthood. While they thought of these as their "date nights", in truth, it was very rare that they actually went anywhere. Sometimes, when the weather was fine, they might take a walk to the footbridge or visit the Candy Kitchen, but for the most part, the librarian and music professor simply took advantage of these nights to enjoy having their usually-hectic house to themselves.

And, in truth, they'd never really felt much motivation to go traipsing around town when faced with the prospect of an uninterrupted evening alone together, especially now that those evenings were a relatively rare luxury – they'd certainly never had any trouble finding all sorts of delightful activities to occupy themselves long into the night without even considering stepping foot outside the house.

But on this particular night, it seemed that everything had been ruined before it had even started. They'd had a foolish little spat in the morning, and now it was unlikely that their planned date night was going to be very romantic at all.

Marian had been racing around looking for clothes for the children so she could pack their overnight bags when she'd realized that Harold had never carried the laundry baskets upstairs as he'd promised he would, and the discovery set her teeth on edge. Descending halfway down the stairs, she stood, hands on her hips and glowered down at where he sat in the parlor, looking far too relaxed for a man who'd left his chores undone. "Honestly, Harold, I believe I reminded you about those laundry baskets _twice_ last night. You really couldn't have found one moment to bring them up?"

In response, her husband let out a heavy, exasperated sigh, slapping the papers he'd been studying down on the end table and striding over to meet her at the foot of the stairs. "Believe it or not, I have other obligations in life besides catering to your every demand!"

She had only been mildly irritated before, but his petulant response instantly set her Irish temper flaring, and she glared at him, hands clenching furiously around the banister – only the possibility of the children overhearing kept her from raising her voice. " _Demand_? I _needed_ you to do this for me – if it's somehow escaped your notice, I happen to be pregnant."

He responded with a low, sardonic laugh, folding his arms. "Oh, believe me, I know. Maybe that's why you're acting so – "

" _What_?"

Harold's expression froze, and he threw his hands up and took a step back, clearly recognizing too late that he'd gone too far. "Forget it – "

"Well, you've already said it now, haven't you?" she fired back, her face flushed with anger and hurt. "Don't say another word to me – don't bother!"

It had been _such_ a petty argument, the sort of spat that all married couples had to deal with with from time to time, but even though the librarian knew full well that the matter would be completely resolved before the end of the day, it never stopped hurting to see her beloved Harold looking at her with annoyance in his eyes instead of affection. The fact that they'd left for work without exchanging any kinder words only made the situation more distressing.

As she always did when they'd quarreled, Marian spent the entire day alternately sulking over how rude and petulant he'd been to her and feeling terribly guilty for the way she'd treated him. She'd known that he'd been very busy in the past week, yet she'd chosen to belittle his workload and lash out at him for what she knew now was not laziness but a simple mistake. Stubborn and prideful as she was, she resented the idea of being the first one to apologize, especially because she knew that the fault did _not_ lie entirely with her – but, ultimately, she knew that it was completely insignificant who'd started it. All that mattered was that they ended it as quickly as possible. Harold was her rock, the source of her greatest comfort and happiness, and to have him _not_ be that, even for such a short time, made her feel off-kilter and lonely. She certainly couldn't allow any discord between them to drag on merely to prove a point!

Of course, even if they reconciled easily, there was still a good chance that their date night had been spoiled by all of this fuss, and that was what weighed on Marian's mind most of all. Those little slices of a honeymoon in the midst of their busy lives were so very important to her, to _them_ , because they ensured that their romance and passion were never far from their minds, and that they had the opportunity to make each other a priority on a regular basis. Losing one of these nights because of their spat would would only create a greater chasm between them, she was sure of it – but if Harold needed more space from her, she would give it to him, no matter how much it stung her.

So, when she heard her husband arrive home that evening, Marian suppressed her usual urge to greet him at the door and kiss him – she wasn't going to throw herself in his way if he might still be angry with her! Instead, she remained at the kitchen counter and continued her dinner preparations, resolutely waiting for him to come to _her_. With the children already at their grandmother's, they were the only ones in the house, so she supposed that they'd have to see each other before long… but there were also enough rooms that he could easily hide himself away if he really wanted to do so, at least until dinnertime.

And, when he didn't come right in to see her or even bother to call out a greeting as he passed through the front hall, the librarian was sure that her suspicions had been confirmed and he was sullenly avoiding her after all. But, upon further listening, she could discern that he was doing _something_ that involved several trips up and down the stairs… suddenly, Marian's heart constricted as she realized what was going on. Whether it was out of love or duty, she still wasn't certain, but he had taken it upon himself to carry _all_ of the laundry up to the bedrooms. She only hoped that it wasn't because she'd managed to browbeat him into it...

Before long, she heard his footsteps right behind her as he stepped into the kitchen. Though it took a monumental effort on her part, she kept silent, needing to get herself under control so she wouldn't make herself look foolish before she'd had a chance to fully assess the situation.

"Marian?" Harold called, his wary tone not betraying his emotions – though it was a good sign that he was speaking to her at all, she reflected.

"Hello," she answered softly without turning around. "How – how was rehearsal?"

"A little rough. Some of the new boys haven't been practicing at home, I can tell, and – well, of course, I couldn't stop thinking about what a heel I was this morning." He paused after that brief but revealing outburst, and Marian could hear him tapping his foot on the floor in a nervous rhythm. "Please tell me that you didn't carry up any of the baskets by yourself – I can't bear to think of you taking that risk – "

While his words instilled a glimmer of hope in her, Marian tried not to be overly optimistic lest she set herself up for disappointment. "No, I didn't. Don't worry. But I understand if you don't want to treat tonight as anything special," she said flatly. "I'm sure you have plenty of things you'd rather do that don't involve me."

The music professor's voice faltered a little. "Do you _want_ me to leave you alone?"

Marian sighed and hung her head, tears welling in her eyes. "No. But I'm sure you must be angry with me, and rightfully so."

"Aren't _you_ angry with _me_?" He drew a little closer to her now, and she sensed that if they hadn't fought, he would have placed his hands on her shoulders or wrapped his arms around her waist. The jarring absence of that natural physical ease between them brought a pang to her heart. This wasn't the way that things were supposed to be, not at all...

In the earlier days of their relationship, the librarian might have remained quietly acquiescent, waiting for him to display his affection again when _he_ felt it was appropriate, but by now, she had learned to be bold when the situation called for it. Reticence on her part would surely only lead to an unfortunate misunderstanding, and she desperately needed him to know that she was ready to put this silly squabble behind them.

So, though she feared rejection, Marian turned to embrace him – and was relieved when he wrapped his arms around her in return. "No, of _course_ I'm not angry anymore," she assured him, burying her head against his chest. "I shouldn't have snapped at you like that, I was just overwhelmed and tired of running up and down the stairs, and – it's still no excuse for how I berated you. I'm so sorry."

"Well, the way I see it, I'm the one who caused the whole problem. I owe _you_ an apology, darling. First of all, I shouldn't have been so callous about pulling my weight around the house – _especially_ because you're pregnant – "

Marian _tsk_ ed lightly. "You made a mistake, and not a very serious one, at that!"

"And I shouldn't have spoken so harshly to you when you confronted me – I ought to have simply admitted that the baskets slipped my mind, instead of picking a fight when you were already upset, and speaking disparagingly about your pregnancy, no less! Don't try to deny that at least half of the blame belongs to me, if not more."

"Either way, it's nothing worth staying upset over," she said, reaching up to stroke his hair. "Nothing but foolishness."

"You're right. All I could think about all day was how much of an idiot I was for treating the woman I love like that – how could I even think to take you for granted?" He gave a terse, rueful shake of his head as he pulled her even closer. "There are so many more important things in the world than chores and laundry, and I don't want to let something so trivial come between us!"

"I was thinking the same sort of thing all day long. It isn't worth it to let _this_ keep us from being happy. And I had been _so_ looking forward to tonight," she sighed, before looking up at him with a tentative smile. "I – I even made you your favorite dinner, if you hadn't noticed yet. I was truly hoping that we would be able to salvage this evening."

Harold grinned warmly, cupping her cheek in his hand. "Kiss and make up, you mean?"

"Something like that," Marian responded coyly, her cheeks coloring as she imagined all of the delightful ways that they could make things up to each other.

Overjoyed, Harold pulled her close and met her lips with his own, at last bridging the final rift that their petty argument had created. If he could kiss her so sweetly and lovingly, then all was right with the world once again, Marian reflected dreamily; with equal enthusiasm, she returned his kisses, telling him without words how right it felt to be in his arms once again.

When they parted at last, she couldn't keep the beaming smile off her face, and she actually felt a little unsteady on her feet from the rush of relief and desire that had just overwhelmed her – but her rational mind knew that now was not the time to yield to those desires, and she figured that she had better step back soon, while that part of her mind was still functioning! "You must know that I'd like to, um, kiss and make up even _more_ – but we should probably have dinner now, while it's hot, shouldn't we? I don't think the baby would appreciate it if we put it off until later."

Harold smiled, laying a hand on his wife's curved belly – and they both laughed when the baby picked that exact moment to kick mutinously, as if affronted at the possibility that its mother might be talked out of a prompt mealtime.

"We'd better feed you both, then – seems like we've got an awfully feisty one on our hands here..."

xxx

After they'd finished eating and clearing away the dinner dishes, Harold abruptly announced that he had something that he wanted to give her and darted out of the room. Intrigued by mildly alarmed by this turn of events, Marian sank helplessly onto the parlor sofa and called to him, "I hope you didn't go out and buy something just because of our petty little squabble!"

"I know that your favor can't be bought, nor would I want it to be," he answered firmly. "But, you see, I was feeling so terrible about what I said to you that I wanted to do whatever I could think of to show you that I didn't mean it – I promise it's nothing big. Just something that I hoped would brighten your day back up, and remind you that I'm not a _complete_ cad."

He walked back into the parlor holding two things: a vase from the kitchen, which he'd filled with water, and a small bouquet of roses, remarkable because every one was a different vibrant hue. Marian's eyes widened with delight when she saw that he'd thought to buy her such lovely flowers, but she still blushed and shook her head, embarrassed that he'd gone to such lengths for her sake.

"You said that it was nothing big!"

"Well, it isn't as if I went out and bought jewelry! Not even a dozen roses – only five," he declared, attempting to excuse his extravagance by reminding her how much more outrageous it could have been. "To tell the truth, my plan was originally to buy a single red rose, but I was intrigued by a new sign in the florist's shop about what each color of rose represents in the language of flowers… and, well, I came to the conclusion that you deserve to be given _all_ of them."

The librarian giggled, leaning her chin on her folded hands. "The great Harold Hill, taken in by a sales pitch?"

He shook his head, opening his mouth to protest – and then closed it again in short order. "Strictly speaking – _maybe_. But I think you'll like the reason, anyway. I want us to take tonight to remind ourselves of all the things that really _matter_ , and that's what these roses are for."

"Tell me what they mean, then," she urged, cuddling into his side as he joined her on the sofa. It felt more than a little indulgent to be sitting here, waiting for her husband to recite what would surely amount to a list of everything he loved and admired about her, but it _had_ been his idea, after all – and, after she'd spent all day wallowing in the memory of the angry words they'd exchanged, she couldn't quite bring herself to feel self-conscious about basking in his affection now that they'd reconciled.

"Okay, now, hopefully, I'm remembering this correctly," the music professor murmured to himself as he pulled a vibrant, sunny rose from the bunch and held it before her. "So, a yellow rose is for friendship – and nobody in the world has ever been a dearer or truer friend to me than you, or a more wonderful conversational partner. When I was young, before I'd become cynical enough to dismiss the possibility of getting married outright, I never thought a wife could be her husband's best friend, because so many people seem to think that men and women are too different to ever see eye to eye. But I can't imagine being married to somebody who didn't challenge and fascinate me on every level, who didn't understand me completely – it sounds like an awfully boring life. That's why I'm so lucky that I'm not only head over heels for you, but that I can treasure your friendship as well. You're the only person in the world who I can talk to honestly about anything and everything."

Satisfied with his explanation, Harold gently tapped the rose upon her nose and reached over to drop it into the vase he'd set on the end table, while Marian stared at him in mild awe. That had only been _one_ of the five flowers, and he'd already managed to overwhelm her with the depth of his sentiments – clearly, a great deal of thought had been put into this simple gift.

"Thank you – for all of that," she exclaimed, her words sounding rather inadequate next to his. "When you said that the roses had meanings, I truly had no idea that you were going to say so _much_ – "

The music professor chuckled softly, silencing her with a quick kiss. "No need to thank me – I'm thanking _you._ " He selected a second rose from the bouquet, this one dark pink. "This one stands for gratitude, for everything you've done for me, past and present," he explained. "Despite the way I behaved today, I want you to know that I'm grateful for all of the hard work you do nowadays, with the house, the children, the library, the band – and I'm incredibly grateful to you for seeing something to love in a good-for-nothing con man and believing in me when nobody else would. I know that I've said this many times before, but I truly believe it – if it hadn't been for you, my future was life imprisonment at _best_. Instead, you gave me the kind of love that most men can only dream of."

His words struck right at her heart, and Marian found herself trembling slightly with emotion, her hands clasping tightly around the one that held the rose. In truth, he'd said nothing that he hadn't shared with her time and again whenever they'd been feeling particularly romantic and sentimental, but these declarations meant as much to her no matter how many times he made them, because they reminded her that they had somehow managed to build this beautiful life together despite all of the wild improbabilities that should have stood in their way.

She cast her eyes downward, elated but flustered because, like so very many of the occasions when he surprised her with something lovely, she had nothing to give him in return. "I don't know what you expect me to say if you keep going on like this."

"I don't _expect_ anything," Harold assured her with a warm laugh, wrapping his arm tightly around her shoulders. "I'm doing this for you, not to hear you praise me."

"All right," the librarian conceded, knowing that she wouldn't want him to feel obligated to her if the situation were reversed. "But I want to remind you that I owe all of my happiness to you, as well, and I hope that you know that my gratitude is just as deep as yours. I hope I can show that to you as wonderfully as you've just shown me..."

She had the sudden, mischievous thought that, though she had no bouquet or pretty speeches for him, she could at least express the intensity of her feelings by lavishing him with attention later in bed – or wherever they ended up. To hide the foolish grin that broke out across her face at that idea, she hastily leaned in to study the flowers more intensely than necessary, lest Harold figure out what she was thinking and spoil her chance to surprise him later!

As he placed the dark pink rose in the vase, Marian impulsively snatched the next one from the bouquet, a lighter pink one that seemed to match her blushing cheeks. "What does this one mean? Are there two different meanings for two shades of pink?"

He nodded. "Light pink is for beauty, elegance, grace. I'm sure that doesn't need much explanation – I've never seen anybody as gorgeous as you. And everything about you is beautiful, the way you move, act, speak – if someone told them so, nobody would have any trouble believing that you were a queen."

The image that statement conjured up was truly preposterous, and Marian couldn't keep from giggling – would he _never_ stop inventing new ways to flatter her? "Somehow, I truly doubt that a librarian from Iowa would fool anybody for long."

Though his wife had dismissed his pronouncements so flippantly, the music professor's expression remained completely serious, eyes glowing with besotted admiration. "If anybody could, it would be you – my elegant, lovely, witty lady-from-the-ground-up," he asserted, peppering her flushed cheeks with kisses as he spoke.

For the sake of humility, Marian felt that she should continue to protest, but as she met his earnest gaze, it occurred to her, in an epiphany that was so wonderful that it left her speechless, that it was no good arguing because, for Harold, what he was saying was not flattery but fact.

She'd never been _proud_ of her beauty, not in the past – what had it ever done for her except attract unwanted male attention? And what did it matter if she was beautiful if everybody thought she was ugly on the inside, anyway, a scheming, mercenary little hussy with a cold, leaden heart? But in the past years, she'd learned to feel beautiful, inside and out, merely from the way that Harold looked at her, not to mention the things he said. Sometimes she still doubted that anybody could really feel that way about her, but she'd mostly come to accept that she was the most gorgeous woman in the world in his eyes – no matter how ludicrous the idea seemed to her – and she had learned to embrace that. Allowing herself to feel beautiful was one of the most freeing sensations Marian had ever known, but it wasn't often that she stopped to think about what it meant that she could now do so. When she was with him, she _was_ a queen or a goddess or whatever hyperbolic epithet he was currently using to describe her, because that was truly how he saw her. The only man in the world whose opinion mattered to her thought that she was more beautiful than anything, and he always would.

All of her words had escaped her; she tried to speak, to express what was going through her mind, but could produce nothing but an incoherent, breathy little sound. She wondered if she could blame her pregnancy for this complete loss of control over her emotions – but she'd learned from experience that in the second trimester, she was usually at her most even-keeled, so it probably couldn't be attributed entirely to that. Most likely, this was simply the effect of attempting to fully comprehend how loved she was, an amount that was obviously far beyond measure.

Harold examined her expression in bewildered concern, placing a finger beneath her chin so he could meet her gaze. "Everything all right?"

The librarian nodded and swallowed hard to dispel the lump in her throat, hoping that it was clear that the tears in her eyes were borne of joy – though it was probably obvious enough, given that she couldn't stop smiling. "Go on, tell me about the next one," she encouraged him, leaning her head against his shoulder as he reached for another flower.

"You can probably guess the sort of thing that a white rose means – loyalty, integrity and purity," he said, spinning the ivory-petaled rose between his fingers. "You're just so _good_ , better than I deserve. You've always put others before yourself, and you're willing to see the best in anybody, even me. You never allowed yourself to become cynical and bitter, even when you were terribly lonely – and you showed me that what I needed wasn't any jaded sadder-but-wiser girl, but somebody gentler, kinder, somebody who could make me a better man. It's one of my dearest hopes that I can be as good of a man as you think I am."

"You _are_ ," she insisted, pressing her lips to his cheek.

He laughed softly, giving her a gentle kiss in return. "Every single day, I try, believe me."

After dropping the white rose into the vase, he picked up one that had intrigued Marian since she'd first laid eyes on it – a pale rose with a distinctly orange tint, a color that could perhaps be best described as peach.

"Now, this one – "

"I don't think I've ever seen a rose of that color before. It's remarkably lovely," she exclaimed just as he began to speak, unable to contain her admiration for the unique flower.

Harold grinned. "It is, isn't it? It just so happens that a peach rose represents desire."

Her eyes widening, the librarian let out a disbelieving little laugh. "The flyer said _that_?"

"Well, not _exactly,_ " he admitted. "It said spirit, enthusiasm, excitement, that sort of thing, and you, sweetheart, possess all of those qualities, in every aspect of your life. But it all tends to lead back to desire, doesn't it? I see your passion for something else, and it never fails to remind me of how passionate of a lover you are. I think I had let myself buy into that insidious myth – that a good, honest girl, the 'marrying kind', would never be capable of the sort of passion that would attract me – but, my God, did you prove me wrong!"

She raised her eyebrows at him with a challenging smirk. "And you're still pleased that I'm like that, even when it means that I may be liable to bite your head off with very little provocation? Like, say, this morning?"

"You don't think I'd trade you for somebody cold and distant just because it might spare us a few squabbles, do you? And, now that we've resolved everything, I think it ought to be pointed out how incredibly delicious you look when you're angry." He grinned wryly. "I prefer when it's not directed at _me_ , of course, and when I'm not angry as well – but that doesn't mean that I don't notice. When I first came to River City and you always looked at and spoke to me with barely repressed fury, it only made me want you _more_ somehow. There's a fine line between the physical reactions of anger and lust – both emotions that get a person hot under the collar," he teased. "You thought you were being ice cold with me, I think, but there was always such _heat_ in your eyes when you confronted me. I would fantasize about just striding right up to you in one of those heated moments and kissing you right on the lips, and you'd respond to me with the same deep, fiery passion that you displayed in your anger... and, darling, I didn't even know the half of it. Those fantasies were nothing at all compared to what it's like to be with you."

While his words set her heart racing, Marian wasn't certain that they were entirely accurate. "Maybe eventually, you found that to be true, but surely I didn't live up to all of those expectations in the beginning, when I was a meek and demure maid experiencing everything for the first time."

Harold smiled fondly as he considered those memories. "You were shy, but never meek. There was always _something_ simmering just below the surface – you responded so beautifully, even to the chastest of touches and kisses." Seemingly to prove his point, he dropped a few soft, gentle kisses on the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist, and when she shivered and her breath caught, he smiled triumphantly up at her. "See? Marian, you are absolutely astonishing, and I will never, ever tire of making love to you. You took a man who couldn't imagine being with the same woman more than once or twice and turned him into a man who can no longer imagine being with anybody but you – and you did it all without any pretense or guile, just by being your wonderful self. And _that_ is what the peach rose means," he concluded, dropping it into the vase with the others. His long presentation finally finished, he pulled her fully into his arms at last and sighed happily, pressing his lips to her forehead. "Like I said – you deserve all of them."

"And the red one?" the librarian inquired with a wry smile as she snuggled into his welcoming embrace. "I see five flowers, yet you only told me about four..."

"Silly woman," he murmured before leaning down to give her a long, lingering kiss. "It means I love you."

As their lips parted, she let out a soft sigh of contentment. "I know. I just wanted to hear you say it – and to say that I love you, too." Wrapping her arms around him, Marian beamed glowingly up at her husband. "Oh, Harold, you're too wonderful. I don't know _what_ I can say in response to all of that! Even your simplest gifts always mean so much, and I only wish I had something to give you."

He responded with an unconcerned shrug. "A wife doesn't generally give her husband roses, so I don't think anybody would fault you for not coming up with the same idea."

"That's true, but it's not just the flowers, it's the things you said. To think that you'd been sitting in your office all day, preparing a lengthy declaration of love – "

"Most of it just came to me as I went along, actually," the music professor admitted. "It wasn't nearly as much of a grand plan as you're imagining it was."

"Um, I don't know if that makes me feel any better or not," Marian said, laughing – she should have remembered that her husband could deliver such beautiful and touching orations without anything so pedestrian as _planning_. "I feel like, to make things fair, I ought to just sit here and explain every single thing that I think is so wonderful about _you_!"

Immediately, Harold dismissed that notion with a firm shake of his head. "I always tell you, everything doesn't have to be an equal trade-off to be fair," he was quick to remind her.

"No, I understand." She knew perfectly well that she didn't _owe_ him anything, but she wanted to make her feelings every bit as clear as he had, and it frustrated her that she had no effective way to do so. "I suppose there's nothing left to say except that if I _did_ give you roses, I'd give you all the same ones."

He immediately raised his eyebrows in skepticism. "Really? Even the white one?"

"Of course. You have _such_ a good heart, Harold. How could you have said all of the beautiful things you just said if you hadn't?" She sighed and gazed down at her hands. "Not to mention forgiving me for behaving like such a nagging shrew today."

"Don't ever call yourself that," Harold pleaded, his brow knitted in consternation. "You couldn't be farther from a shrew – why, you're the very opposite. I don't like to hear you say such things when nobody in the world deserves it less."

Marian tried her best not to snort. "Lofty talk, coming from a man who spent the past ten minutes exalting me while insulting himself at turns! I don't like to hear _that_ , either."

"But I'm basing my judgements on years of crime. You're basing yours on a little household squabble," he insisted.

"Still, I – I feel terrible knowing that I caused you any pain over something as small as all that," Marian admitted, gently trailing her fingers across his upper chest.

The music professor smiled sheepishly at her. "Likewise."

"However, I _had_ been thinking today about how much I'd love to make up for all of the anguish that I must have caused you." With a sly grin stealing across her features, the librarian let her fingers drift upwards to pull the knot of his tie loose and unbutton his collar. "I know it wasn't much of an argument, but – I'm more than willing to atone _doubly_ for every moment that you suffered today. Yes, it was only a little fight, but there's no reason why we can't make up like it was much bigger."

"Mmm, you _are_ brilliant," he murmured, his deft fingers already making short work of the buttons on her blouse. "Can we coordinate all of our quarrels to be like this? A minimum of emotional distress, but as much making up as possible?"

Marian smiled against his lips. "I think that's a goal we can aim for. Though ideally, we ought to skip the fight in the first place, don't you think?"

"Yes, ideally." He let out a low chuckle against her skin as he worked his way along her neck with languid, open-mouthed kisses. "But, since the damage has already been done, we'll have to work diligently to undo it tonight." Slowly, maddeningly, he pushed up her skirt until his fingers found the top of her stocking and traced along the strap of her garter, making her tremble as they brushed bare skin. "And I think I know just how to make you forget all about every moment of unhappiness you might have suffered today..."

It took an incredible strength of will not to simply melt into his arms and let him demonstrate, but he'd done quite enough of that already – it was time that he let her take the lead. "Actually, I've been doing quite a bit of thinking on how to make things up to _you_. And, after listening to you spend such a very long time focused on me, I think it's only right that you let me have my say right now."

Harold was no fool, and he certainly wasn't going to make any attempt to resist his wife when she was set on taking charge of his pleasure. "And what are you planning to – uh – _say_?" His breathing had already grown rough and unsteady just from the light, incidental brushes of her fingers against his erection as she worked his belt buckle free, and Marian relished every moment of it.

She gave a light, teasing nibble to his earlobe before moving up a little, her breath brushing his ear as she whispered: "You'll see."

Having served their purpose more than satisfactorily, the roses went unnoticed for a very long time.

xxx

_A wife doesn't generally give her husband roses,_ Harold had said, but in their case, he had been wrong. Three months later, Marian gave him a rose that put all others to shame – Rose Beatrice Hill, a tiny bundle of pink cherub cheeks and soft brown hair.

Her name, of course, had first came to them on that same night when her husband had brought home the meaningful bouquet. In the wee hours of the morning, when they were finally spent from hours of exquisite lovemaking and drifting off to sleep entwined in each other's arms, the librarian had impulsively whispered in his ear that, if the baby was a girl, she wanted to name her Rose, and Harold had responded fervently that he thought that would be an absolutely beautiful name for their daughter.

But, as they had been just barely awake at the time, both of them woke up the next day unsure if the exchange had actually happened or if they'd merely dreamed it – it was only because they _both_ remembered it that they were able to ascertain the truth of the matter. Something strange seemed to happen as soon as they'd settled upon that name, though. The name seemed so fitting that they both developed a strong hunch that their baby was, in fact, a girl – and between that shared presentiment and Charlotte's continual tracking of the baby's growth, it felt a bit like they already knew little Rose when she finally arrived!

That she did indeed turn out to be a girl was, perhaps, the _only_ thing about Rose that anybody could have predicted. Certainly, her very conception had been quite the surprise, but, in the first months of her life, the youngest Hill continued to surprise her family again and again.

One of the first and loveliest surprises had been the color of her eyes. Like most babies, all of the Hills had been born with light blue eyes, but, within a few months, they had developed their true colors. Charlotte's eyes had darkened to brown, like Harold's, and William and Susie had both turned out to have the greenish hazel eyes that ran in the Paroo family. But Rose's eyes only seemed to get bluer as the months went by, and they were luminous and arresting with their deep and vivid hues. Marian vaguely wondered if those eyes could be attributed to the same mysterious ancestor who had given her her own golden hair – a trait that had been quite the surprise to her two red-headed parents when she'd been born! Wherever they came from, though, they were beautiful, and truly distinctive.

"She's got eyes as blue as the ocean," Harold had remarked one day, grinning at his own cleverness as he sat beside his wife as she rocked the baby in the nursery. "Fitting, considering the circumstances of her conception, don't you think?"

"Please – the ocean isn't even blue," Marian countered with a laugh. " _My_ eyes are closer to the color of the ocean than hers are!"

Still, the music professor would not give up. "The sky, then," he declared. "Or – what about clouds reflected on the water? Either way, I think she brought a little piece of California home with her... What do you think, Rosie?"

Blinking her big, round eyes back at him, Rose responded by breaking into a brilliant, toothless smile and grabbing her father by the nose.

Perhaps it was simply because she had three older siblings all vying to entertain her, but Rose seemed to smile and laugh more than any other baby they'd ever known. As soon as she'd learned how, she clapped and giggled just to catch sight of her parents or siblings after any short period of separation; she was enthralled by the gold tassels of her father's bandleader jacket and admittedly ridiculous feather atop his hat, the tendency of Strawberry the cat to pounce wildly upon invisible prey or vault herself onto the furniture, the novel phenomenon of raindrops falling from the sky, the glints of light that sometimes reflected off Marian's jewelry... And, for those times when laughter was apparently not sufficient to express the extent of her excitement, she had developed an adorable – if not startling – habit of letting out loud, piercing shrieks whenever she found something particularly amusing.

William, who had been a bit disappointed when his new sibling had not turned out to be a brother, actually seemed to have the most in common with Rose after all – another charming surprise. While the other two girls had always had more placid natures – Charlotte, for all of her bold tenacity, mostly enjoyed pastimes that required sitting quietly, and Susie had always been exceptionally careful to avoid doing anything that might either get her messy or get her scolded – Rose always seemed to be in motion, even though she could not yet even crawl. Her bright eyes were constantly seeking something new and exciting, her little hands reaching for some new discovery or her chubby pointing fingers making sure that everybody else could see whatever was currently delighting her.

It was apparent, just as it had been with William, that Harold and Marian were going to have their hands full as soon as she became mobile, and the little boy seemed to quickly pick up on this similarity as well, as he soon formed a special bond with his youngest sister. Just like his father, William gloried in the thrill of an audience's adulation, and Rose was turning out to be the most enthusiastic audience he'd ever had, with her gleefully uproarious responses to games of peek-a-boo and the silly voices he gave to her toys.

Like all of the Hills, Rose had a weakness for music in all of its forms, and it also provided one of the surefire ways to lull her to sleep. While a bouncy and energetic tune would make her more riled up than anything (babies and toddlers always seemed to enjoy ragtime, Harold had pointed out, a fact which he found hilariously funny given the genre's less-than-reputable standing in the eyes of the public), listening to Marian play something slow and gentle on the piano would almost always leave her transfixed and silent with rapt attention. But she was even more entranced by listening to her parents sing, and, almost immediately after her birth, they'd realized that they already knew the most perfect song to sing her to sleep with.

Certainly, it wasn't the first time that they'd employed one of "their songs" as a lullaby for their children, but _Goodnight, My Someone_ had always seemed the most appropriate for that purpose. However, Harold observed that there was no better song to sing to their youngest than, of course, _Lida Rose_ – and, even before she was old enough to recognize her own name, it seemed that Rose enjoyed that song more than any other.

One night, when Rose was about six months old, she had begun fussing just as Harold and Marian were preparing for bed. The music professor had offered to run down to the nursery to check on her, and Marian had been rather relieved that her husband had been so willing to take on this duty – after all, even with undergarments becoming less constrictive in recent years, it still took a good deal more work for a woman to get changed into her nightclothes than it did for a man, and as Harold was already dressed for bed, he didn't need the extra time to himself as much as she did. Of course, if Rose was crying because she wanted to nurse, Marian would still be needed – but at least she would have a few minutes to get out of her girdle first!

As it turned out, though, Harold didn't return to fetch Marian after all, and as she sat on the bed brushing out her hair, the librarian became aware that the sound of her daughter's cries had been replaced by the sound of her husband's warm baritone voice drifting down the hallway. She simply couldn't help but smile as she listened to him singing, her heart tightening with adoration – he was truly a wonderful father, and Rose certainly must have already loved him as much as the rest of the family did.

Setting her brush aside, Marian found herself being drawn to him, wanting to catch a glimpse of this charming moment. Treading softly down the hall in bare feet, nightgown fluttering around her ankles, she stopped at the open doorway of the nursery, leaned against the doorframe and promptly melted at the sight of her music professor cradling their littlest daughter in his arms, gazing at her with an expression of perfect love and tenderly stroking her soft hair as he crooned the song that had become her lullaby.

_Lida Rose, I'm home again, Rose..._

Almost without realizing it, Marian found herself softly humming _Will I Ever Tell You?_ in counterpoint to his singing, smiling to herself as she watched him set Rose down in her crib. The two songs sounded so natural together that it took almost a full minute for the music professor to notice that he had company, but when he did, he was only briefly startled before breaking into a grin. Though she'd been fully expecting and prepared to be caught, the librarian suddenly felt herself blushing shyly, as if she'd accidentally intruded on something sacred and private – of course, Harold was even more enchanted to witness her unexpectedly demure response. Giving a final pat to Rose's little head, he let his song trail off and walked to the doorway to join his wife.

"She's asleep, I take it?" Marian asked softly.

"Yeah. Her song always does the trick, doesn't it?"

"And she likes it best when you sing it – I suppose because it's a song for a man's voice, after all!" She stepped closer to him, searching his eyes. "You know, when I hear you singing that – " She paused, realizing that they probably should not converse at length right next to a sleeping baby, and, after switching off the single low light that was still burning in the nursery, took his hand to pull him into the hall.

When the librarian finally brought them to a halt once they'd stepped a suitable distance away from the door, Harold was gazing at her expectantly, and Marian felt a sudden, incongruous sense of maidenly shyness borne of the memory that she'd been revisiting, as if she were really about to confess her love for the first time. "It's just so strange, when you really think about it. I think of the first time I ever heard that song, and where we are, right now. I was sitting there, pining for you on my front porch – so in love with you, already a different woman just for knowing you, but also certain that nothing could come of it. I thought I would never confess a thing to you, that it was just a brief, passing infatuation with a traveling salesman who wasn't long for this town, a bittersweet memory for me to hold onto as I drifted into my lonely life of spinsterhood. But that isn't what happened, and now here we are, singing this song to our beautiful child – our _fourth_ beautiful child. And, well, I'm just – " Her voice almost gave out as emotion overwhelmed her, and she clung tightly to her husband, leaning her head against his chest. "I'm so happy that I told you. So, so happy."

Harold's voice was shaking a little too as he answered her, his strong hands stroking up and down her back. "Me too, my love – more than I can ever say."

Certainly, they had _both_ made important choices back then that had led them to where they were today, but it still amazed her that she had managed to summon up such bravery at that crucial moment, back when she'd known so very little about being bold and straightforward compared to what she knew now. Pulling back so she could gaze into her husband's eyes, Marian was certain that her face must have simply been radiating her love and desire for this man who made her feel complete in so many ways, and she was endlessly grateful that she could no longer even imagine being self-conscious or unsure about that, no matter how much she still might blush. "Can you show me, then?" she asked, biting her lip coyly as she ran her fingers down his chest.

"There's nothing in the world I'd rather do," Harold answered earnestly, surprising her by promptly lifting her straight up into the air – and when he gave her backside a firm squeeze, she broke out into joyful giggles and wrapped her legs around his waist to keep from falling. In their unbridled enthusiasm, they could barely manage to keep themselves upright, but, fortunately, their bedroom was only a few feet away, so they didn't have to maintain their balance for long – and there, they were free to collapse into any variety of configurations that they chose as they spent the night in passionate, blissful celebration of their extraordinary love.


End file.
